


consummation / to consume

by deplore



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Cannibalistic Thoughts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 21:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11929314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deplore/pseuds/deplore
Summary: Goro Akechi and Akira Kurusu become one.Goro sets the table slowly, taking his time to make sure that each utensil ends up the right place, each perfectly positioned relative to each other. This is a special meal, the likes of which he’s never experienced nor will he ever never experience again – therefore, every detail about it must be precise and deliberate. It doesn't matter that Goro's never eaten at a fancy Western restaurant before, that he's never seen a table set with a full array of silverware firsthand before: he can imitate it, he can pretend as if he knows the significance of each fork and spoon like he was born into such knowledge.Besides, for a dinner as grand as he's about to eat, nothing less would do than the full spectacle. Appearances matter, after all, despite feel-good sophistries people throw around to make themselves feel better about their misfortunes.More than that, though he wants to savor the moment – he wants to let it build up, so that the pay-off feels even better for having waited.





	consummation / to consume

**Author's Note:**

> **Please don't read this if you're not okay with the use of cannibalism conceptually.** The act is not depicted realistically, but it's the main theme of this fic.
>
>> _oh, please don't go_  
>  we'll eat you up,  
> we love you so.  
> (where the wild things are - maurice sendak)

**PREPARATION:**

Goro sets the table slowly, taking his time to make sure that each utensil ends up the right place, each perfectly positioned relative to each other. This is a special meal, the likes of which he’s never experienced nor will he ever never experience again – therefore, every detail about it must be precise and deliberate. It doesn't matter that Goro's never eaten at a fancy Western restaurant before, that he's never seen a table set with a full array of silverware firsthand before: he can imitate it, he can pretend as if he knows the significance of each fork and spoon like he was born into such knowledge.

Besides, for a dinner as grand as he's about to eat, nothing less would do than the full spectacle. Appearances matter, after all, despite feel-good sophistries people throw around to make themselves feel better about their misfortunes.

More than that, though he wants to savor the moment – he wants to let it build up, so that the pay-off feels even better for having waited. So he lines each utensil perfectly parallel with each other, centered with the plates and spaced out to make the silverware seem every bit as grand and expansive as the dinner that’s about to be served. And once he’s satisfied, he finally sits down, places his napkin on his lap, and smiles towards the guest of honor sitting across from him: the boy who’ll be both his dining partner and dinner all at once.

“Bon appétit, Kurusu,” he says.

There’s no reply, but the dead generally do not speak.

 

* * *

 

 

**FIRST COURSE:**

He starts with Akira’s hands, because hands are such a uniquely human thing. That their shape is exactly as it is, Goro’s sure, is inextricably linked to what it is to be human altogether – therefore, he’ll relieve Akira of his hands first.

Besides that, Goro’s always been rather jealous of Akira’s long fingers – his own are a little too stubby to have the same satisfying, elegant beauty that Akira’s hands have. It’s fitting that a thief would have beautiful hands, Goro thinks; they look so beautifully proportioned both bared and in Akira’s red gloves. But they’d be even better if Goro never has to see them again and wish for something as stupid and petty like _oh, I wish my hands looked like his_.

He eats the meat off of Akira’s fingers with restrained voraciousness, leaving behind nothing but bones and cartilage. Goro’s spent childhood days hungry, after all – far be it from him to ever waste food when it passes in front of him.

 

* * *

 

 

**SECOND COURSE:**

Next is a rich stew of vegetables and intestines, cooked soft and warm so that every solid piece melts in Goro’s mouth. The thing that Goro’s always found interesting about intestines is that in a literal sense, they are outside of the body: the gastrointestinal tract runs as a single tube from top to bottom with various valves here and there.

And yet, at the same time, they are undeniably contained entirely inside of the body. Intestines aren’t skin; seeing a person’s skin is normal, but seeing a person’s intestines is certainly not. But at the same time, they exist along the same surface as skin is, so both views of the organ are technically valid. Choosing which interpretation is more correct is a matter of shifting perspective.

Goro wonders what Akira would have said is the answer he prefers. Still, that doesn’t stop him from enjoying the stew thoroughly.

 

* * *

 

 

**THIRD COURSE:**

The main course, of course, has to be the heart. Goro brandishes his knife and fork with languid grace as he cuts through the organ, making little bite-size pieces out of it, until it’s been divided so many times that there must be enough that he could feed each and every person who ever desired to occupy even the smallest bit of Akira Kurusu’s heart a chunk.

But he won’t share: this heart is his because he took it and he’ll have it in a way that doesn’t allow anybody else to take even a fraction of it. And when he’s finished digesting it, Akira’s heart will become a part of him, circulating through Goro’s body and providing him with nutrients, with sustenance, with life, with –

Well, it won’t give him love. It won’t even give him the capacity to love, neither the ability to receive somebody else’s love. If Akira’s heart had such a mystical power, Goro thinks, then he wouldn’t have had to cut it out of Akira’s ribcage to begin with. He has no such need for fanciful concepts that can’t be quantified and that hold different meanings for each individual.

Maybe Akira understood that. Perhaps that’s why Akira hadn’t resisted and simply smiled before he said, _That means you like me, don’t you? When you want somebody to be that close, to become a part of you – that means you like them, don’t you think?_

But doesn’t matter anymore. Whatever reasoning that existed behind Akira’s thoughts and actions has disappeared already, into the void, piece by piece into Goro’s stomach.

Akira Kurusu’s heart isn’t particularly larger than the average human heart, but as Goro expected, it is delicious.

 

* * *

 

 

**CONSUMMATION / TO CONSUME**

“No, I think it’s you who doesn’t understand,” Akira had said, “the implications for what you’re going to do. You can eat me up, if that’s what you really desire. But if you do that, then I own you forever. I’ll own your life. I’ll haunt you forever. You’ll never be free of me ever again. Not for a single second of the rest of your existence will I ever leave you. Still, you want to?”

Still, he wanted to.

And Akira had smiled, eyelashes fluttering. “You really don’t understand at all,” he said. “But that’s fine with me.”

 

* * *

 

 

**DESSERT**

Along with a cup of black coffee, Goro has Akira’s eyes with powdered sugar. He sips at the coffee slowly and then balances out the bitterness by popping an eyeball whole into his mouth, pressing it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth until the organ gives way. Then he swallows down that sweet, viscous fluid all at once.

Akira’s eyes were so plain and yet striking – Goro hadn’t liked them at all, especially the way that he could stare forth so defiantly despite anything, everything. Even now, Goro thinks they’re his least favorite part of Akira; the sweetness doesn’t linger long enough and is overpowered by the taste of coffee. But the consistency has a rather pleasing mouthfeel, he thinks: he likes the way the sensation of crushing those eyes as if he’s crushing Akira’s sense of defiance by proxy.

He eats the second eyeball, and then drinks the rest of his coffee. And finally, he places his dessert fork diagonally across the plate to convey: _I am done, the meal is over_.

“It was delicious,” he says. “Thank you for the dinner, Kurusu. How strange, though – I don’t feel full at all.”

“Then eat more,” Akira replies. “There’s still plenty left, isn’t there? My stomach, my kidneys, my brain… I thought you didn’t like to waste food.”

“We can eat together tomorrow as well,” Goro suggests.

Akira laughs and says, “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to have a really long, stressful work day tomorrow, so I stress wrote gore, because apparently that's my coping mechanism now. 
> 
> Anyway, if you're interested in seeing more of my writing (even the stress induced gore?), please check out my [carrd](http://deplore.carrd.co). Thank you!


End file.
